


my heart, now yours

by asiren (meliorismo)



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gen, Motherhood, Original Character(s), Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:06:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23588116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meliorismo/pseuds/asiren
Summary: Anne, because she’s strong. Mary, because she’s brave. Watson, because she’s mine.
Relationships: Joan Watson & Anne Mary Watson, Sherlock Holmes & Anne Mary Watson, Sherlock Holmes & Joan Watson (Elementary)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	my heart, now yours

**Author's Note:**

> elementary ended at season 6

**my heart, now yours**

“It came, over and over, down to this: What made someone a mother? Was it biology alone, or was it love?”

Celeste Ng

Anne Mary came to this word as a Laurel, even if a tentative one. Her mother, bloody and exhausted, insisted in having something to call that screaming child, and it _could not_ be “my baby”. It was true that she had already decided to give up on her daughter, for a thousand reasons that were only her own, but she refused to suffer the indignity of giving birth to a child without a proper name. She was raised Catholic, as her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother before her, and if she couldn’t (wouldn’t) baptize that child, then she would, at least, for her own sake, give the baby a name. So [unnamed newborn] became a Laurel, for the total of two weeks and three days. After that, she was Anne Mary Watson, only child, and Laurel Jones, unclaimed, was symbolically dead. Of course, if some people are to be believed, when she die and go to the arms of the Lord, He shall still be trying to call her Laurel. 

But it’s not like Joan believed in _that_ sort of nonsense. 

“Sherlock!” Joan yelled from downstairs, sounding much more exasperated than angry, which made giggling a reasonable response for Annie to have. She was seven and a half years old, and hiding behind a curtain. Since she was very small for her age, and if her mom were to be suffering a severe concussion, she could remain there for at least more ten minutes. Unfortunately, Joan was healthy as someone could possibly be, so Annie went running away, hoping to be able to hide under her uncle’s bed before her mom decided to look for the second most likely (and, this time, the correct one) suspect of having dressed Clyde as a ballerina again. “Sherlock, I _will_ kill you!” 

“I always end up blamed for your plans.” Sherlock muttered, from his place _over_ the bed. Annie giggled again, even if she _was_ a little surprised by his presence. She didn’t see him there. Annie should really work on that, because her mom said that Sherlock shouldn’t be able to surprise her anymore, because he was as subtle as a bull in a china shop. 

“It isn’t my fault!” she answered, unrepentant. “Mommy always thinks that it was you anyway. It’s because you dress Clyde as a firefighter all the time. She says that he’ll…” 

“...eat the little hat and die, yes. Watson is being dramatic, as is usual for her. Clyde is too smart to eat his own uniform. He has the correct amount of respect for the sacred oath he took as a firefighter.” 

“A _tortoise_ can’t fight fire. It’s too slow.” 

Sherlock huffed, indignant. “Who said that?”

“He couldn’t carry water either, his paws are so small. It would be like that story with the little bird trying to save the forest.” 

“You’re acting like he’s a normal tortoise. He isn’t.” 

“Mommy said that he is.” Annie insisted, with the finality of someone who has the ultimate argument, not too different from _it was God’s will._

“Mommy isn’t always right.”

“Since _when.”_

Her uncle only huffed again, but didn’t say anything. It was because Joan Watson always knew what she was talking about. Everyone said so, specially Sherlock. How could it be different? She was Annie’s _mom._ Absolutely perfect in every aspect, with the exception of the barely edible stuff she tried to cook. _That_ was real bad. Annie shivered, remembering the tuna salad sandwich Joan tried to make for her to take to school when the teacher send a note saying that it all the others moms decided to send homemade lunches during that week. Sherlock said that the other moms were nuts, but Annie’s mom wanted to fit in, kind of, so she made the tuna salad sandwich and send with her daughter Monday morning. It wasn’t a hit. 

“Sherlock!” Joan yelled again, her voice now much closer. “I’m holding him and he _is not happy!”_

“Well.” Sherlock said, thoughtful. “Damn.” 

Annie stared at her mom, who looked unimpressed at her antics. Her plate was full of something green and gross. Her uncle pretended to be anywhere else, very discreetly hiding disgusting food on a napkin while Joan’s back was turned. 

“Go on, eat. There are many children starving while you’re acting like this.” her mom said, and went back to her own meal unenthusiastically. Annie couldn’t help but notice how Joan didn’t want to eat that forest either, but she guessed that adulthood was nothing more than perpetually doing stuff that make you wish you were dead. 

She refused. She was still young! 

“Don’t wanna.” she answered, pushing her beans around and thinking with sheer longing about the hot pocket on the fridge. 

“That’s sad.” Joan said, unmoved. “Eat anyway.” 

“But I _don’t wanna.”_

“I don’t think this is as good an argument as you think it is, love.” her uncle muttered behind a forkful of salad. Annie glared at him. 

“Why do I have to eat this? So unfair!” 

“Stop complaining, Anne Mary.” her mother said, with finality. Annie sighed, and that was it. She ate the green, gross stuff, because she only was Anne Mary when her mother was _this close_ to killing her, and she learned on TV that death was the only stuff you could never fix. Or argue with. And what would she do if she couldn’t argue? 

“You’re evil.” she whispered to herself, and her uncle chuckled. 

_So_ unfair. 

Anne Mary was adopted as a baby and raised by the most unorthodox people on Earth. A lot of partial strangers would say to her mom, _I never thought you would end up having a child!_ when meeting her on grocery stores, specially if they had never seen Joan again since she quit being a surgeon. Apparently, her mom was a “very different person” then, but Annie couldn’t see how it meant that she wouldn’t be a mother? She was _Annie’s_ mom. It was just strange to think that there was a world when it could be different. She told that to her uncle, and he started saying stuff about “perspective”, and Annie tuned him out. 

Anyway. Anne Mary was adopted as a baby and raised by the most unorthodox people on Earth. She had all the weird hobbies of her uncle, like beekeeping, and all the quirks of her mother, like pretending to hit people with a baton. Her aunt Lin told her that she hoped Annie would become a cheerleader, and not a weird vigilante. Annie got hooked on Daredevil, even if she understood like 60%? maybe? of everything that happened on screen, and her mom almost had a heart attack; it was something about age appropriate content. Annie tuned her out too.

Anne Mary was adopted as a baby and raised by the most unorthodox people on Earth. All in all, it was _the greatest_ life someone could ever live. She fucking loved it.


End file.
